To Wash it White as Snow
by JDSampson
Summary: When an undercover assignment goes wrong and Joe is badly hurt, Frank thinks long and hard about his association with the Justice Dept. Then the suspect comes back for revenge and Frank must bear the weight of his brother's blood on his own hands.
1. Chapter 1

**Hardy Boys: To Wash it White as Snow**

_What if this cursed hand_  
><em>Were thicker than itself with brother's blood, —<em>  
><em>Is there not rain enough in the sweet heavens<em>  
><em>To wash it white as snow?<em>

_- Hamlet_

(Set several years after the third season of the TV series)

"Frank. We're out of time." Joe stood in the den doorway, eyes scanning up and down the massive hall for any sign of movement from either end.

"Almost got it," Frank whispered back as he fought to still his shaking hand. Couldn't pick a lock with the shakes and even without Joe telling him, he knew they were cutting it close. "The buyer's here. We're not going to get another chance. If we—"

The lock popped.

Frank yanked open the drawer and grabbed the small plastic case. "Got it." He closed the drawer, returned the desk chair to its proper position then turned off the desk lamp. Having everything as it was would buy them some time but not much. He followed Joe out of the office, closed the door and then all hell broke loose.

Shouts, screaming, gunfire. Lots of gunfire.

"Damn it." Frank grabbed Joe by the sleeve and dragged him in the opposite direction of the main stairs.

"What's happening?"

"Maybe the buyer decided on a double cross, keep the money and the chip. I don't know. Come on." Frank led the way through the master bedroom and out the French doors to a glass enclosed patio that faced the ocean. At the end of the balcony was a spiral staircase. Frank went first with Joe close behind. Just as they reached the lower level, the glass wall above them shattered, sending glass shards down like an unmerciful rain.

Frank felt a quick, hot slice in one arm as he raised it up to protect his face. Joe cried out, lost his footing and went tumbling forward into his brother. Frank blocked his fall, then grabbed Joe's arm and pulled him down the last few steps just as another round of gunfire reverberated through the house.

"We need to get out of here," Frank said unnecessarily as he ran over the floor plan in his mind. A right turn now would take them back into the kitchen. There was an exit there – into the yard, but from there they would have to go around the side of the house in order to get out to the street. The only other option was straight ahead, across the wide open expanse of the rec room. It was a shorter shot to the outdoors but would afford them no cover whatsoever.

"What do you think? Straight across or the long way?"

"Straight," said Joe, pushing the word out on a panting breath.

"Straight." Frank dropped into a crouch then ran forward until he hit the far wall. Joe tucked in right behind him. Now, through the archway and to the left. Footsteps sounded overhead and then more shouts. This wasn't supposed to be happening. In and out. Get the information and go. No gunplay. No one gets hurt. "We're going to have to run for it. Ready?"

"Frank."

He turned and saw Joe sliding down the wall, hands gripping his left side. "What happened? Did you get cut?" He stooped down and peeled Joe's hands away. The shirt beneath was soaked in blood. "Did you get shot?"

Joe shook his head yes, but said, "I don't know. Feels bad." He sucked in a shaking breath and with that came a moan of pain.

"Okay. We're going to get you to a doctor but we have to get out of here first. Can you walk if I help you?'

"I think." Joe tried to push himself up but Frank got under his shoulders and did most of the work.

"Not much further, okay?"

With no other option left, Frank said a prayer then stepped into the open archway. Instantly there was a gun in his face.

"Frank! Jesus!" Avery Mitchell lowered her weapon but still kept it at the ready in a locked elbows position. She was their justice department liaison. The one that Frank should have reported to instead of taking matters into his own hands but this was the job. Sometimes you had to improvise and sometimes people got hurt.

"Joe's been hit."

Avery didn't look at him, her eyes were drawn to the smoke pouring over the upstairs balcony. "The bastard is burning the place."

"He's burning the office," Frank corrected. "It doesn't matter. Come on." Now supporting even more of Joe's weight, Frank followed Avery out the front door. There were agents on the lawn and a couple of young men face down on the ground. Frank recognized two of them and felt bad about their predicament. They weren't involved in the dirty dealings. Just two computer geeks who hooked their wagons to a falling star.

"Taylor," Avery called to the other agent. "I've got a man down. I'm going to take him out of here. You got this?"

"Absolutely, go."

Seeing Joe fading, Avery slipped under his other arm and together she and Frank got him down the drive to her car. They loaded him in the back and Frank climbed in with him. Before Avery got in, she took off her jacket and then her blouse, leaving only a thin, white tank. She tossed both items to Frank.

"Use the shirt to put pressure on the wound and cover him with the jacket if you can. Keep him warm."

"Frank," Joe's hand searched through the air until it found his brother. "Am I going to die?"

"No. You're healthy and you're strong and you're going to be fine. Just don't give up, okay."

"Hurts though," and that was followed by a grating wheeze.

"I've had to listen to you sing those same songs over and over, can't be more painful than that."

"Funny."

"Glad to hear you say it. The sense of humor is the first thing to go, so there's proof that you're going to be fine." But even as he said it, he could feel his brother's warm blood oozing through his fingers. "Avery? Hospital, right?"

"I don't think there's anything that close." She grabbed the radio mic under the dash and used it to contact the dispatcher. "I've got a medical emergency. I need to know my options around Quinn's place."

"Roger that."

Joe shifted as if he might find a more comfortable position but the movement only served to heighten the pain. He gasped and shivered, head and shoulders twisting in Frank's lap.

"Easy, easy. You gotta lie still."

"Can't."

"It hurts. I know but you can do this."

Joe twisted again and Frank lost his hold on the wound. He wrapped his right arm around Joe's chest and pulled him in tight, then got his left hand and the bundled shirt back into place. It was hard to tell the exact spot but it was above the hipbone and near the bottom of the rib cage. From the erratic way Joe was breathing, Frank suspected the bullet may have impacted the lungs. If that was true, a full collapse would be imminent and then they'd be completely screwed.

"How did I get shot?" Joe asked, his voice oddly clear and focused. "I didn't see the shooter."

Avery was back on the line with the dispatcher talking streets and turns.

"A ricochet, maybe. The bullet that broke the glass in the stairwell."

Joe shivered even as his face broke out in a sweat. His hand went searching again and this time he latched on to the front of Frank's shirt.

"I'm scared." And it was the voice of his baby brother worried about monsters in the closet. But monsters could be chased away with a flashlight and big brother sharing the bed. If only this could be fixed as easily.

"I know, Joe. I'm scared, too but it's going to be okay. Just like the plane, remember? In a storm over the Bermuda Triangle and we got through that one. This is a piece of cake compared to that. "

"There's a doctor's office a couple of blocks from here," said Avery and it took Frank a second to realize she wasn't talking to the dispatcher anymore.

"No hospital?"

"Too far to drive. We get him to the doctor. The doctor can stabilize him and then we'll airlift him out of here."

"Hear that?" Frank wiped Joe's bangs off of his sweaty forehead. "There's a helicopter in your future."

Joe's only response was a painful shudder.

Fear and frustration pushed Frank to his limit so he turned it all on Avery. "Why the hell did you come in shooting? We had everything under control."

"First of all," Avery snapped back. "We didn't start shooting. Quinn's people did. And second of all, we didn't know you had it under control because you didn't check in and our informant turned up in a fisherman's net off the coast."

That rubbed off a bit of the edge. "Henry? He's dead?"

"Single gunshot to the head but not before he'd been tortured. We had to figure he gave you guys up that's why we came running."

It was Frank's turn to shudder. He clutched his brother tighter, more for his own benefit this time than Joe's. He'd heard Quinn's right hand man mention his name, saying they were going to have a talk when the deal was done. Still, from the tone, Frank hadn't even suspected that his cover had been blown.

"The buyer was there. It was all going down—"

Avery took a corner too fast and it jostled them both hard in the backseat. Joe cried out as if he'd been newly stabbed and it dug into Frank's heart as if he'd been cut, too. He was about to snap at her to be careful but let it go when the car rolled up a driveway and stopped.

"We're here, Joe. Not much longer, I promise."

Avery leaned on the horn a couple of times then got out and opened the passenger door so Frank could climb out. Together, they maneuvered Joe out of the car then carried him between them up the path to the rural house.

There was a sign next to the door that said, Hugh Bennett M.D.. That was some comfort. At least they had the right house. Lights popping on inside before they could even ring the bell also went a long way to calm Frank's nerves.

A moment later, the front door opened inward revealing a man of about 40. Clean shaven with neat, short brown hair. He was dressed in jeans and a pull-over shirt with slippers on his feet.

"Bring him inside," was the first thing he said to them and Frank wondered if he often found bleeding souls standing on his doorstep at night. "What happened?"

"He's been shot," said Frank.

The doctor stopped and looked at them, his gaze dropping to the gun on Avery's hip. It was clear he was wondering what he'd just gotten himself into.

"We're the good guys," Avery assured. "FBI. I'll show you my badge as soon as we get him on an examining table."

"Of course, this way." Bennett ushered them down the hall and into an exam room. Avery helped Frank get Joe on the table then she pulled out her ID as promised. The doctor was satisfied with a quick look then went to work.

He snapped on latex gloves, then loaded instruments on to a metal tray. "I'm going to need an assist."

"Tell me what to do," said Avery.

Bennett moved around the table then asked both of them to help roll Joe gently on to his right side. His left side was one big, bloody mess of matted clothing from mid-torso down to his hip and it looked even worse in the well-lit room than it had looked in the car. The doctor picked up a pair of scissors then carefully cut away the clothing around the wound.

"Young lady?"

"Avery," she prompted.

"Avery. Across the hall is a storage room, you'll find an IV set up and I need some drugs from the cabinet. It's locked, keys are in my pocket." He thrust his hip out toward her keeping his gloved hands up in the air as she fished out the ring.

Frank didn't hear anything after that, he was too mesmerized by the sight of his brother's blood smeared across the ghostly, yellowy fingers.

"I tried to stop the bleeding."

"You did good, it's coagulating nicely but sadly I'm going to have to go in to get that bullet." He traded the scissors for a pair of forceps which he used to remove the bits of fabric that had been drilled into the wound. "What's your name?" he asked without looking up from his work.

"Frank. Frank Hardy, this is my brother Joe."

"I have an Uncle named Joe. He's 300 pounds and he smokes two packs a day. I think even with a bullet in his gut your brother is in better shape than he is." His probing fingers hit a spot that made Joe writhe and gasp. His hand shot out, fingers flexing for something to grab on to. Frank took hold and squeezed.

"I'm right here, Joe. The doctor's taking care of you; it won't hurt for much longer." Frank looked up at Bennett hoping for confirmation on that promise.

"Soon as we get the IV going. Does he have any allergies or conditions I should know about?"

"No."

"Any chance you know his blood type?"

"He's AB positive; I'm A positive if you're thinking of a transfusion."

"I think I've got it covered, if you'll go down the hall, you'll see a refrigerator with plasma bags. Bring me one."

"Okay," Frank said but he didn't move. He stayed right there, clutching Joe's hand, brushing the sweat-soaked hair away from his pale face.

Bennett switched on an overhead light then brought it closer to the wound. "The bullet's right here. Looks like it's resting against a rib. I need that plasma before I can go further."

"Oh, yeah. Okay. Joe. I'll be right back." Frank ran out of the room but felt the pull of his brother every second he was gone. He located the fridge easily, grabbed a plasma bag and returned just as Avery was wheeling in an IV setup.

"This is what I need." Bennett positioned the pole, hung the bag and expertly inserted the IV line in Joe's arm with minimal fuss. He hung the blood bag next and finished by injecting a liquid into the line. "I'm going to sedate him so I can get that bullet out. Then we'll pump in the new blood, stabilize his vitals and then we'll see about getting him to a hospital."

Bennett stripped off his gloves, tossed them in the trash then put on new ones. He checked Joe's blood pressure, pulse and heart as Joe faded into a deep sleep.

"Do you need me?" Avery asked as the doctor collected more tools for his tray – sutures, needles, clamps and gauze.

"No. This won't take long and I have a feeling big brother is going to hang around."

"You bet I am."

Avery stroked her hand down Frank's arm. "I've to check in with Taylor, make sure everything's okay with the team."

"Fine. Go."

She didn't deserve the anger in his voice but it had to put it somewhere. The only other option was to blame himself and that idea was already starting to erode his emotional wall. Yes, he'd pushed it too far. Yes, he'd put them both in danger but they would have gotten away without a scratch if Avery hadn't ordered the raid. It was a matter of trust. Even with the informant dead, she should have found a way that didn't include blowing up the whole operation in their faces.

Operation.

Frank focused on what the doctor was doing then had to look away. He wasn't usually squeamish but when it was his brother's flesh being peeled away. . . that was a different story.

"Did the bullet do much damage?"

"It didn't hit anything major. Looks like the ribs took most of the punch out of the bullet. Was he very close to the shooter?"

"No. We didn't even see a shooter, I think it was a ricochet."

"Well, he's lucky. He's going to be sore for a while and he's going to have some trouble breathing until the ribs heal but it could be worse. A lot worse." Bennett straightened up with a bloody bullet clamped between the tines of the forceps. He dropped it into a cup on his tray then switched the forceps for sutures. "Kind of unusual isn't it?"

"What is?" Frank asked, sure that he'd missed a sentence in between.

"FBI agents who are brothers, working the same case. Seems like it'd be hard to keep your feelings out of it."

That's the truth. "We're kind of special and we're not FBI agents."

Bennett looked up at that.

"Avery is and we're. . . consultants, I guess. We work with the Justice Department when they need a younger face for an undercover assignment. We got loaned out to the FBI for this one."

"I probably shouldn't ask any more about it. Guess I'll see it all in the papers, tomorrow." He looked up again. "Or will I?"

Frank shrugged. "Not my department." And that was when he started to feel sick. The blood, the smells, the adrenaline drop. "Bathroom?"

"Down the hall, second door on the left."

Frank practically ran there. He dashed inside, leaned over the sink and felt his stomach heave but nothing came out. Deep breath, straighten up and there he was, looking at himself in the mirror. His hair was a tangled mess and there was a streak of blood across his cheek. He leaned down again and splashed cold water on his face.

Better.

He turned to use the toilet and was confronted with a full-length reflection of himself. His white dress shirt was splattered with so much blood anyone would have thought he'd been injured. He yanked it off, popping a few buttons in the process then threw it in the sink. The t-shirt underneath was also stained red in spots, but not as much and not as dark. He wished he could change all of his clothes and take a long, hot shower, too but that was going to have to wait.

Suddenly remembering, Frank slipped his hand in his pocket and found the plastic case with the computer chip inside. Should give that to Avery but he wasn't going to. Not just yet.

Turning back to the sink, he rinsed his shirt, all too aware that it was his brother's blood going down the drain, then wrung it out as best he could. It was going to take forever to dry. He'd ask the doc about a dryer after he finished caring for Joe.

As he walked back to the exam room, he heard Avery curse from the front of the house. "Jesus Christ, Taylor. That was the whole purpose of this mission! " Pause. "I don't care about him! It's Quinn we need so you damn well better pray that we find his body in the ashes!"

All of which meant, Quinn could be out there, looking for his chip. Looking for the people who had betrayed him. Damn it. Frank's brain said breathe, but his body had other ideas.

Avery slammed down the phone. Swore again, then picked it up and dialed. "This is Agent Mitchell. I need to talk to Hammond."

Frank saw her appear at the end of the hall, phone base swinging in one hand, receiver to her ear. She twirled with nervous energy and spotted him. "Doc all done?"

"Almost." Frank reached for the exam room door handle.

"We need to talk."

"Later," Frank mumbled but most of it went into the door anyway.

* * *

><p>Bennett was washing his hands when Frank returned.<p>

"How's he doing?"

"Good. His vitals are stable, the wound closed up neatly. Unless his condition worsens, I'd like to keep him here through the night, let him get his strength back before we send him to the hospital."

"If you think that's best."

Bennett dried his hands on a paper towel then tossed it in the trash. "There's a bed in the next room. If you help me, we can get him cleaned up and moved in there. He'll be more comfortable."

"Sure," but now Frank was getting antsy. They were only a few miles from Quinn's place and if he knew somehow that Joe had been shot. . . Frank shook the thought away. There were FBI agents crawling all over the estate. He'd never get past them or Avery. She'd protect them with her life, which was why they were in this mess in the first place.

The growl of metal sliding in a track brought Frank back to the present. The wall on the north side of the room wasn't a wall at all. It was a sliding pocket door. Beyond that was room with flowered wallpaper and a Union blue chair rail that ran waist high around three walls. A hospital bed took up most of the space and with the pocket door open it was only a few feet from it to the exam table.

"You've done this before," said Frank, marveling at the ease of it all.

"Not with bullet wounds but broken legs, appendicitis and a bleeding ulcer." Bennett unlocked the wheels on the bed then pulled it even closer. He turned down the blankets, then repositioned the IV stand. "Just watch out for the lines when we move him." He got behind Joe's head and Frank took his feet and without too much effort they transferred him from hard table to soft bed.

Bennett double-checked the IV then attached a heart monitor by gluing small rounds with wires to Joe's chest. Frank went more for comfort, adjusting the pillows and tucking the blankets in around his brother's sleeping form.

"His color looks better." Frank swiped his hand over Joe's forehead, lingering longer than Joe would have allowed if he was awake.

"I'll get him started on antibiotics to lower the risk of infection. That's our next big concern. You're sure he's not allergic to any medications?"

"None that I know of." Because come to think of it, Frank couldn't remember the last time Joe was sick enough to need an antibiotic.

Avery entered through the exam room door then crossed over the threshold into the sleeping space. "This looks promising."

"I've done all I can," said Bennett. "I'm going to clean up and then make some coffee. I'll let you know when it's ready." He stepped back into the exam room then pulled the pocket door closed with a mighty whoosh. As soon as he was gone Avery went after Frank.

"This is entirely your fault, you know. If you had checked in like you're supposed to-"

"I couldn't!" He glanced at Joe then grabbed Avery by the arm and dragged her out of the room and across the hall into the doctor's office. "A couple of days ago, Quinn started watching us, real close. At first I thought he was on to us but then I realized it was just the opposite. He wanted to bring me closer in and I couldn't risk blowing it. Joe tried to leave once but Quinn's man, Korshak, he shut him down. We found out later it was because the buy was about to happen and Quinn was nervous."

"Because he knew he had a leak and somehow he figured out it was Henry." Avery paced from one wall to the other in the small room. "He tortured him to find out how much we knew. Henry couldn't have told him about you, or Quinn would have canceled the buy."

"I'm not so sure. I heard Korshak talking about us but I didn't pick up the context."

"That alone should have made you nervous enough to pack up and get out."

"But it was my job to take down Quinn and that's what I was doing."

"It was your job to gather intel, that's all. You had explicit instructions to get out if things went sour."

"But they didn't go sour!" Frank shouted. "That's what I'm trying to tell you. Quinn was bringing me in on the deal. He asked my opinion on the plans."

That stopped her. "You saw the plans. You saw what he was selling?"

"Not exactly."

There was a sharp knock on the door then it nearly hit Avery as it opened a little. Doc Bennett stuck his head in and said, "Do you think you could take this down a notch? I have a patient who's trying to sleep."

"Of course, sorry," Frank said sincerely. He took a deep breath to calm himself then paced and shook his hands to get rid of the rest. "He asked me to review a code sequence, but I think it was a test because it didn't add up."

"I don't understand." Avery took a step toward him but Frank countered, not wanting to feel what she made him feel.

"It was a computer routine designed to initiate a series of complex commands. Commands where the computer could actually make decisions based on a variety of input and all of it happening within minutes, seconds even. But there were holes in the code." Seeing that he wasn't getting through, he sat down behind the desk and wrote out a series of equations on a legal pad.

50-20=30+10=40+ =8-3=5

"Look at this. We can follow the calculations until we get to the 40+ and the =8. There's something missing in between. There's a lot missing because we can't add something to 40 to get 8, except maybe a negative number, but after that the calculations make sense again."

"And the code he showed you, it was missing a piece, like this."

"More than one piece. It was a test to see if, a – I'd notice the gaps and b, if I'd tell him the truth about the problem."

"And c- fix the problem," Avery suggested.

"I couldn't have done it. It was too complex."

"Too complex for you? Maybe it couldn't be fixed."

Frank laughed. "I appreciate your confidence in my abilities but that code was way beyond me and anyone I've ever met. If Quinn could make that work, he's a bigger genius than we imagined." He dropped the pencil and leaned back in the chair. "If he had a working version of that code, it could be used to automate a missile attack like we've never seen." The answer was in his pocket, but still Frank resisted giving it up. He had a new plan formulating in the back of his brain and he'd need the chip to make it work.

Avery scrubbed her hands over her face and moaned. "Christ. We knew what he was doing had military applications but we had no idea it was this advanced.

"Well, for now, you've got his buyer and he's out of business and I need to decompress."

"Me, too." She turned to face the wall then softly banged her head against the wood paneling.

"Why don't you go get some coffee? Give me ten minutes and I'll join you."

Avery heaved a big sigh. "All right."

He thought she might come back for another kiss but she surprised him by leaving without another word.

What a mess. And if Quinn was still out there. . .

He knew what he had to do.

Frank picked up the phone receiver and dialed a long distance number from memory. "Agent Hammond, please. Frank Hardy." He got up from the desk chair and moved as much as the phone cord would allow. Hammond came on a moment later.

"Frank, Agent Mitchell filled me in. How's Joe?"

It might have sounded like an obligatory question but Frank knew Hammond had grown genuinely fond of the boys since they first met up two years earlier. Now he was going to make that fondness work for him.

"He's doing good. I think if he makes it through the night without any trouble then we're out of the woods."

"Glad to hear it. I almost called your father but thought you'd want to do that yourself. You haven't spoken to him have you?"

"No, not yet. Listen." He filled his lungs to get more force from his voice. "This whole assignment went to hell tonight and Joe's the one who paid the price. Yeah, he's going to make it but only by the grace of God, I'm telling you."

"Field work can be dangerous but—"

"Don't. This is my fault, I know that. In the past, I've convinced myself that we're working for you because it means helping people, making a difference. But the truth is, we agreed because it was exciting and new and it got in our blood and when it was over, we couldn't wait to do it again. And so we did and we got in deeper and deeper with every new assignment. Remember Chicago? Atlantic City? Those were both close, close calls but I let it ride because you couldn't tell me I wasn't invincible."

"You're passionate about what you do, that's why you're good."

"Don't patronize me. The hard truth is that you've gotten into the habit of sending two untrained, unarmed civilians into the lion's den."

"Now wait a minute," Hammond said, his own level rising. "I offered to send you to the Academy for training and you said no."

"Well, I'm saying yes now. And I want a couple more things." Frank took another deep breath before diving in. "Before I go out on another assignment, I want to be licensed to carry a gun."

"Your father won't like that."

"My father carries a gun. He of all people should understand the need. If I had had a gun tonight, I wouldn't have had to sneak out of that house like a scared rabbit. Your agents all carry guns. I'm going to carry a gun from now on."

"I understand," said Hammond. "And if you deal with your father, I'll get you the training and the permit."

One down. Now the big one.

"Second, I want Joe out. No more cases for him. I'll stay on and do whatever you need me to do, but he's done."

"Shouldn't that be Joe's decision to make?"

"No. I'm making it for him. He's going to finish college and write songs and become a famous musician and no one is going to shoot at him ever again."

"It's fine to say but—"

"But nothing. You're going to make it happen because I have something you need."

Hammond went silent for a moment. "And what exactly is that?"

"Quinn's chip. He burned the office so I bet you didn't get any of his plans or notes, but I've got the chip in my pocket. I stole it out of his desk just before the FBI decided to reenact the St. Valentine's Day Massacre. You cut Joe off the payroll, you get me a license to carry and it's yours."

Another moment of silence then Hammond's voice came back slow and metered. "That sounds like extortion."

"I call it looking out for my brother's best interests. It's about time somebody did."

"That's not fair. I never pushed either of you to take on a mission you didn't want or couldn't handle."

"Doesn't matter. Joe's out of it. I'm not kidding and I'm not backing down. This chip nearly got him killed. Now I'm going to use it to save his life."


	2. Chapter 2

To Wash It White As Snow: Chapter Two 

Frank spent the rest of the night sleeping on a roll-away cot in the room with Joe. It was a fitful sleep, twisted by images of fire and guns and Joe bleeding out in his arms. Twice he woke to Joe moaning and mumbling. He calmed him with words the first time, but called the doctor the second time.

Bennett injected another bottle of sedative into the IV and after that Joe slept silently through to morning.

The next time Frank woke, Bennett was checking Joe's vitals. He sat up on the cot and groaned at the twinge in his back. Not even thirty and he was getting old.

"I washed your shirt and dried it," the doc said as he pumped up a blood pressure cuff. "Would have liked to wash all your clothes but I didn't think it would be polite to strip you while you slept."

"I'm not sure I would have noticed." Frank stood then bent backwards in a deep arch. "How is he?"

"He wants to go home," Joe said, slow and lazy.

A broad smile spread over Frank's face. "Hey, you're coherent." He stepped closer to the bed and saw that Joe's face had some color and his eyes, though a little glassy, were able to focus.

"I'd be more coherent if he'd stop pumping that stuff through my veins."

"Believe me," said Bennett, "You don't want me to stop." He stuck a thermometer under Joe's tongue. "I've switched out the sedative for a straight pain killer. It won't put him to sleep but he'll still be a little loopy.'

"That's his natural state."

Joe managed a, "ha ha" while still holding the thermometer in place.

"He's also well –versed in talking with his mouth full."

Bennett removed the thermometer then held it up to his eyes. "You're running a little hot, Mr. Hardy."

"That's bad," Frank said, his good mood dissolving in an instant.

"It means his body is fighting off an infection. As long as it's winning the fight, it's all good." He turned his attention back to Joe. "I'm going to up the antibiotics and then you're on your way to County General."

"A hospital?' Joe groaned. "Can't I stay here?"

"I think a hospital would be better. They probably won't you keep you long. Just a day or two to make sure there aren't any complications as a result of my fine work. Think you can manage breakfast?"

Joe nodded but already his strength was waning.

"Be right back then." Bennett packed up his gear then left the room.

Frank put his hand on Joe's shoulder and felt better for the contact. "Kinda scary, huh?"

"I wasn't worried," Joe said, as his eyelids fluttered open and closed. "I knew you'd save me."

A joke. Or not? Frank couldn't tell.

"I'm sorry I got you into this. You knew three days ago that we were getting in over our heads." A flashback of himself and Joe on a mountain top popped into Frank's head. A missing boyfriend, UFO's, people in bandages playing baseball and guarded by men with big guns. Still, he'd wanted to stay, to dig a little deeper, but Joe had dragged him out of there. He remembered hearing real panic in his brother's voice. The same panic he'd heard three days ago after Korshak barred him from leaving the house. But unlike that time on the mountain, Frank hadn't listened and now Joe was fighting off an infection from a bullet wound.

"I've learned my lesson," Frank continued. "And it's not going to happen again. I promise. No more dangerous situations for you." He paused, waiting for Joe to react but the younger Hardy was asleep. Just as well. Frank knew his brother wasn't going to accept his decision to split up but he was going to have to learn to live with it.

Live – yes, that was the important word in that sentence.

* * *

><p>Frank pushed a piece of toast and a glass of juice on Joe as breakfast but ended up drinking only coffee himself. Two hours later, the helicopter arrived to take Joe to the hospital but Frank was told they couldn't take him. He'd have to drive which meant going back to Quinn's to get his car.<p>

After thanking Bennett profusely for his help, Frank and Avery climbed into her car, but first he made the mistake of looking at the backseat. It was stained with blood and seeing that made him even more anxious to get back to his brother.

A few minutes later, they turned into the sweeping driveway of the estate house. The right wing of the building was a charred heap of wood and metal but the rest of the building was still standing tall.

"That's not good," Frank said, as he climbed out of the car. "I thought from what you said, the damage was more extensive."

"I thought so, too," said Avery and they were both thinking the same thing – that Quinn easily could have escaped the flames.

Agent Taylor jogged over to meet them. "Morning."

"It is that," Avery said, her eyes still taking in the scene. "So what have we got?"

"Not a lot. We arrested nine people. Four we're pretty sure were innocent bystanders. Three are Chinese, the buyer and his entourage we figure and so far they're pretending they don't speak English. We're working on an interpreter. The other two are Quinn's henchmen, the ones with the guns."

"Korshak?" Frank asked

"Yeah, he's one of them. He shot our man Falluci, but he was wearing a vest so outside of some bruised ribs he's fine. Still that's attempted murder of a federal agent, so he'll probably be willing to deal. So what's with the guy you took out of here last night? I didn't recognize him."

"My brother," said Frank. "We've been working undercover for the last few weeks."

"For us?" Taylor asked, obviously surprised and that made Frank do a double take. Even though he and Joe had only worked with Avery on this, he'd always assumed that her team was in the know and watching their backs. Apparently, not.

"Would have been nice to know," Taylor continued but Avery ignored him.

"Hey," Frank cut in. "I've got to get to the hospital. You done with me?"

"For now. Give me a call later today or tomorrow so we can arrange a debriefing. Just call the bureau and they'll find me."

Frank said he would, then he located his car which was thankfully untouched by the fire. Unfortunately their clothes and Joe's guitar were inside the house which was now cordoned off as a crime scene. So until he got home to Boston or out to a store he was stuck with the same clothes he'd been wearing since this whole ordeal began.

He pulled out of the garage, dodged a fire truck and two unmarked cars, then turned out on to the main road. Fifteen, twenty minutes to the interstate and then a full hour's drive to the hospital. That gave him plenty of time to think about how it all started, more than a month ago. . .

* * *

><p>"Mickey Quinn has a brilliant mind especially when it comes to computers. He could have worked for the government or any of the top technology companies but instead he went into business for himself."<p>

"Designing video games," said Frank.

Agent Mitchell looked impressed and that made Frank smile even wider. "You're not a fan, I take it?"

"Pac-Man and Pong, that's it for me."

"Quinn's games are a little more complex than that. He has this one treasure hunt game that's only been cracked twice. Once by a physics professor in Vienna and once by a ten-year-old boy in Bayonne."

Harry Hammond, who was sitting next to Joe for the briefing said, "I told you he could speak geek."

Joe rolled his eyes. "He's fluent in the language."

"Which is why I need you, both of you," said Avery. "The FBI has learned that Quinn is working a side business selling something to the Chinese. We don't know exactly what it is, but we're pretty sure it's got military implications. You see we have an informant on the inside but he doesn't understand the jargon. He could be looking at plans for an atomic bomb and he wouldn't know it. I need someone who speaks Quinn's language in more ways than one."

"Surely you have tech experts at the FBI? Why come to us?" Frank asked.

"I want a fresh face on this and even though I have guys like you. I don't have anyone like Joe."

"Should I be flattered or insulted?"

"Flattered," said Avery. "Because you bring to the table the one thing Quinn has always wanted but can't buy - coolness."

"Coolness?" Frank repeated.

"Quinn was never very popular in school so he's making up for that now by buying friends, cool friends like actors and skaters and -"

"Musicians," said Joe

"Quinn dreams of being a rock star. He's even working on a new video game all about the lifestyle. We sell you as an up and coming rock and roller and he'll be dying to pick your brain."

Hammond went to his desk and came back with a set of surveillance photos which he spread out on the table in front of the boys.

"These are the players. First we've got Quinn." He pointed to a photo of a skinny man in his twenties, with thick, kinky black hair and a nose that was too big for his small face. Next, was a smaller man with glasses and a heavily receding hairline. "This is Henry Epstein. He and Quinn were best friends in school. A real bookworm, but nowhere near Quinn's IQ. Epstein is his house manager, he runs personal errands for Quinn and he's also our informant."

"That's convenient," said Frank.

Avery pulled another photo to the front of the pile, a big guy with blonde hair, full mustache and sideburns. "This is the guy you've got to watch out for, Derek Korshak. He's also an old school chum but back then Korshak was tossing Quinn into dumpsters and knocking over his lunch tray."

Joe laughed, "So Quinn subscribes to the motto if you can't beat them, buy them."

"Exactly. The fact that he was an outcast in school is still a sticking point for Quinn. You guys can use that by making him feel like you want to be his friend. But don't lay it in too thick because he's not stupid."

"We understand," said Frank. "So how do we get in?"

"Henry's arranged a party next weekend and Joe, you'll be the entertainment. He'll introduce you as brothers and mention that Frank knows computers and Joe knows music so maybe they can help with the new game."

"Not too obvious is it," Frank asked.

"No, he does this all the time. Quinn's really big on finding new talent. He'll be happy to meet you, but you'll have to charm your way into becoming a regular."

"I think we can handle that," said Frank but Avery looked to Hammond for confirmation.

"They've gone undercover before. They can handle themselves." Then he turned to the boys. "I'll have your cover stories together by tomorrow. Instead of getting you an apartment near Quinn I thought we'd go with the idea that you're on a road trip."

"Singing my way across the United States with my big brother in tow, I like that." Joe gave Frank a slap on the back. "We should actually do that. After college. A graduation gift to ourselves."

"If we ever finish college with all the weeks we keep missing."

Avery dragged her hand through her thick hair as she frowned. "Hey, look. This could be a long term assignment. If you guys have other places to be. . ."

"These two," said Hammond. "They'd rather be in the field than in the classroom. Their father is a detective so they've been at this cloak and dagger stuff since they were teens."

"What are you studying?"

Frank replied, "I'm studying criminology and Joe's studying music."

"Then you can call this a work-study program." Avery got up and the men followed suit. "I'll check in with you again tomorrow and we can go over your cover story. You'll need to be letter perfect to get past Quinn." She stopped there but it was clear she had another thing on her mind.

"Spit it out," said Frank.

Again she dragged her hand through her hair. "I don't know if there's anything to it but we've been watching Quinn for a while now and a couple of people in his inner circle have upped and disappeared."

"Disappeared," said Joe. "Wonderful."

"We're not sure they didn't leave on their own and we missed it. He does rub some people the wrong way. He's brilliant but socially he's inept, immature."

"Then he and Joe should get along just fine."

* * *

><p>Frank had said it as a joke but it turned out to be true. Quinn took to Joe right away, warming up to Frank a bit later and only due to Joe's intervention. Frank had assumed it was because unlike Joe, he was a potential rival. Another brain who actually understood the inner workings of Quinn's games. Once Quinn realized that Frank wasn't a threat to his position, they'd become friends, spending many a late night talking about the possibilities once everyone had a portable computer in their pocket.<p>

Frank genuinely liked the geeky, young man and found it hard to imagine that he was as dangerous as Avery painted. Of course, that was then and this was now. There was no getting around the fact that Henry Epstein had been tortured and murdered. Maybe that was all Korshak. Maybe Quinn didn't know or what to know, but at the same time, he was selling weaponry to the enemy and there wasn't any good way to spin that.

Thanks to highway construction, the drive to the hospital ended up being closer to two hours than one. After that, he had trouble finding a parking spot and had to go through three people before he could find out the number of Joe's room. By the time he was standing outside of his brother's door, he had had it. Unfortunately, there was more grief waiting for him inside in the form of Fenton Hardy.

Frank chose to bypass him in favor of checking on Joe who was too groggy to respond properly.

"What's going on? He was better than this when I left this morning."

"He was in some pain after transport so they upped his medication," said Fenton. "He needs his rest, so why don't we go outside to talk?"

It sounded like a question but Frank knew it wasn't. It was an order. He followed his father into the hall then out to a patio where a harried nurse was sucking on the last, little stub of a cigarette.

"This morning," Fenton began. "I got up early and called Hammond to discuss the Dolan case. Imagine my surprise when in response to my good morning, he says, 'how's Joe?' Joe? I say. My son, Joe? Why would you ask such a question?"

Frank cut him off. "I get it. I should have called you but it's been a long night and an even longer day and I can't do anything more than say I'm sorry."

"Hammond also tells me you missed your last check-in with your handler. Did you run into trouble?" Fenton rethought that. "Well, obviously you did since your brother got shot."

"You make it sound like it was my fault! We were doing the job and we were on our way out when Agent Mitchell came in guns blazing. I'm not even sure he got hit by one of Quinn's people. The direction we were traveling, I'd say it's more likely that he got hit by friendly fire. So go take your frustrations out on the FBI, not me!" Frank started to walk away but Fenton grabbed his arm. As Frank turned back around, he saw an entirely different expression on his father's face.

"You're right. I'm sorry. I just. . ." He let go, then threw up his hands. "It's always a blow when you find out that your child has been hurt, but coming out of left field like that. . . "

"I should have called. I know. I'm sorry." Frank slipped down into a smudged plastic chair. "I'm also worn out."

"I'll bet. You probably haven't had a decent night's sleep since this assignment started."

Frank shrugged. "Goes with the territory. What did the doctors here say about Joe?"

"That the doctor who patched him up did a good job. They might release him tomorrow, or Friday at the latest. Bill Anderson flew me down in his two-seater but I'm thinking of renting a car so we can all drive back. You know, take it slow, stop at a motel along the way, enjoy the ride."

"Sounds good, but it'll just be the two of you. I've got to go back to Washington for debriefing and I have some business with Hammond." He knew that sounded cryptic but Fenton let it go.

"Son, I'm sorry I jumped all over you. I can't help worrying about you boys." He clamped a hand on to Frank's shoulder and that was the extent of the affection Frank was willing to take on right now. He stayed seated and waited for his father to break the hold. In those few seconds, he turned a thought over in his mind and decided to give it a shot.

"Dad, would you worry more or less if I was carrying a gun?" He watched his father's expression closely, expecting either horror or shock. What he got was neutral which was a real testament to Fenton's acting ability.

"It's probably not a bad idea. These assignments you've been taking on are getting more and more dangerous and seeing as law enforcement appears to be in your future. . . "

"Hammond said he'd arrange it. Training and a permit. Maybe even a couple of Academy classes to fill in the gaps that happen when you learn on the job."

Fenton stuffed his hands in his pockets then paced the length of the patio before turning back. "So we're talking about just you. Not Joe."

Again Frank wished for the ability to read his father's poker face. "Just me," he said softly.

"That's good. I know your brother can hold his own out in the field but I can't picture him with a rifle in his guitar case. He still seems so—"

"Young?"

"Innocent. Not that you're worldly and jaded, but somehow it feels more right for you."

Frank wasn't as good at hiding his emotions as his father so his surprise showed on his face.

"Not the answer you thought you were going to get?" asked Fenton.

"Well, like you're always saying, no matter how old we get, we're still your sons."

"And I don't want to see you get hurt, which is why I'd rather see you well trained and armed if you're going to keep going after guys like Quinn."

Frank pushed up to his feet with a sigh. "It's not Quinn. It's that henchman of his. I know he was selling out his country but I don't think it was about hurting people. I don't think people even enter his mind. He thinks in numbers and equations and he just wants to be appreciated for what he can do."

"Make a missile guidance system that can target the White House from an enemy ship in the middle of the ocean? Believe me, we all appreciate what he can do."


	3. Chapter 3

The next time Joe woke up, his condition was much improved. Frank stayed around until dinner and when he saw Joe gobble up the starchy hospital food, he knew everything was going to be all right.

"I hate to eat and run but I've got to catch a plane to Washington. I'll meet you back at Dad's in a couple of days, okay?"

Though they had moved out of the house in Bayport more than a year ago, they still spent almost as much time there as their apartment in Boston. Part of that was due to the increased frequency of assignments for Hammond. But that was coming to an end, for one of them, anyway. After recuperating at their old house, Joe was going to return to Boston as a full-time student and part-time musician – whether he liked it or not. The decision was made.

Frank reached into his pocket to pull out his keys then realized he didn't need them. "Dad, the FBI gave me a car to use while I was at Quinn's. Why don't you drive that back to Bayport. I can't take it with me on the plane, so there's no sense leaving it here while you rent another one." Frank handed him the keys then told him where to find it in the lot. "I'll call you tomorrow and see what time you're getting out of here." Then to Joe he said, "And you behave yourself. I don't want to hear about stitches coming loose because you can't stay still."

"I'll try. And Frank." Joe reached out but Frank was too far away to make contact. "Thanks for taking care of me."

"That's what big brothers are for."

* * *

><p>Hammond took his time reading the report, well aware that Avery Mitchell was sweating out every second. She was seated in a chair in front of his desk but her body was still in motion, leg swinging, fingers tapping, shifting from side-to-side.<p>

"Are you nervous about something Agent Mitchell?" Hammond asked without looking up from the page.

"I blew it. This was my operation and it fell apart."

"Not completely." Hammond reached the last line then closed the file and set it aside. "We don't get a second chance to make decisions in the field. You take what you've learned then you go with your gut. As far as I'm concerned, saving lives always takes precedence over making a bust."

"But it's even better when you can do both."

"You did do both." Hammond opened the cigarette case on his desk, took one out and offered her the box. She shook her head no. "You got the buyer, who, it turns out, is on a CIA watchlist."

"Really? That's something."

Hammond lit his cigarette with a silver desk lighter. "And you've disrupted Quinn's business. He's not a man who regroups easily, especially when he doesn't have his support system."

"Korshak and Epstein."

There was a short knock on the door, then the secretary stuck her head in. "Agent Hammond, Frank Hardy is here to see you."

"Send him in."

She stepped in further to let Frank pass, then went out again and closed the door.

"Frank. How's your brother doing?"

"Fine, sir. He's being released from the hospital later today." Frank's gaze went to Avery. "Oh, I was going to head over to your office next. I just have a couple of things to talk over with Agent Hammond first."

"No problem. I'll see you in a bit." She stood up to go but stopped when Frank held up his hand.

"On second thought, you're going to find out soon enough so. . . " He reached into his pocket and pulled out the small plastic case which he handed to Hammond. "I don't know what's on it, but it's the chip Quinn was about to sell to the Chinese agent."

"Where did you get that?" Avery asked, and it was clear that she was calculating times and places in her head. "You've had that on you all this time and you never said anything? You let me think we blew the bust!"

"You did blow the bust," Frank shot back. "You lost Quinn."

"Now, now," said Hammond. "Everybody did what they thought was best at the time. It's over and done." He peered closer at the case as if that would help him see what was on the chip. "I'll get this to tech boys and they'll figure it out. Together they must be at least as half as smart as Quinn, right?"

"You joke, but I'm telling you, I've never met anyone like him. His ability to process complex sequences is almost supernatural. I move one piece on a chess board and he can figure out the ramifications twenty moves ahead."

"And I can't remember the steps to program my VCR," said Avery. "I have to get the book out every time."

Frank laughed. "Quinn could teach your VCR to predict which shows you'd like to watch and then record them whenever they happen to air on TV."

"I'd like that." Suddenly she frowned, eyes narrowing as she looked him up and down. "Are you still wearing the same clothes from two days ago?"

"Yes. I left everything I had with me at Quinn's. I just want to get this debriefing over, then I'm flying home to Boston to eat, shower and sleep in my own bed."

"Sounds like a plan," said Avery. "And Frank. I really do appreciate everything you and your brother put into this case. I wish we'd gotten Quinn, too, but Hammond's right. We did pretty well."

"Thanks and there's one other thing. When we met up with your man Taylor yesterday, he had no idea who I was. Why didn't you tell your own people that Joe and I were working undercover?"

She shrugged. "I just thought it would be safer for you. Less chance of anyone accidentally blowing your cover."

Frank glanced at Hammond but his expression said nothing different.

"Okay then. Let's get this done."

Hammond called a stenographer into his office. He set up a tape recorder as well and then Frank went back as far as he could remember, relating every detail about his interactions with Quinn and his band of not-so-merry men.

* * *

><p>It was a little after ten in the evening when Frank got back to the apartment he and Joe shared in Boston. As soon as he crossed the threshold, the events of the last few days fell in on him and it was all he could do to remain upright through the much-anticipated hot shower.<p>

When he got out twenty minutes later, he considered making himself dinner but the sight of his own bed kept him from heading to the kitchen. He didn't even bother to put on a t-shirt and sweats. He simply dived under the covers naked and still slightly damp.

It wasn't until his head hit the pillow that he remembered he'd left the lights on in the living room. Thirty seconds later, he was sound asleep and he stayed asleep, barely moving an inch, until the phone woke him at three in the morning.

Eyes closed, his hand shot out in the darkness and came down on the alarm clock snooze button. No good. The damned thing kept ringing.

It took another few seconds before he realized that it was the phone and not the clock and another few seconds for his brain to figure out that he should answer it.

Frank grabbed the receiver then rolled to his back, stretching the curly cord across his chest. "Hello."

"I thought you were my friend."

Familiar, but too early in the morning to place it. "Who is this?"

"Wow, how quickly we forget. Not three days ago we were the bestest pals and now you don't even recognize my voice."

Quinn!

Frank sat upright so fast; the phone base almost flew off the nightstand. "I was sleeping. What. . . ?" Slowly his brain caught up to his mouth.

Quinn. Calling him at home. Frank Hardy's home. How was that possible?

"You lied to me," Quinn accused. "You said we were friends but you weren't my friend. It was just a joke, wasn't it? You thought you were better than me. You thought you could get me busted."

"Quinn, hey, I was just trying to keep you from going down the wrong path, man," said Frank. "You're brilliant. You could do so much with your life, but you're mixed up with some bad dudes."

"Korshak? He tried to warn me. Told me you were trying to steal my light. Told me you weren't really my friend. Like Henry. Henry betrayed me, too and I don't understand. I let you live in my house and swim in my pool and have parties and fun. We were having fun!"

"We were having fun, but—"

"Shut-up!"

A slight echo of fists pounding against a wall carried across the phone line.

"You think you're so smart! You are, Frank, smarter than all the other guys who hang around. That's why I liked you. That's why I thought you understood me."

"I do understand—"

Quinn cut him off. "Do you think you're smarter than me?"

"No, I don't," Frank answered honestly.

"Well you better hope you're at least close or you're going to have a very hard time."

A chill ran up Frank's spine. There was something in Quinn's tone that was both childish and yet menacing. Maybe it wasn't all Korshak? Maybe Avery had been right about Quinn all along.

"Quinn. Don't do anything—"

"What? Stupid? I'm the smartest man on the planet, Frank. And you better hope that you're number two."

The line went dead and Frank went cold.

This was bad. Very, very bad.

* * *

><p>Quinn hung up the phone then kicked the wall over and over again until a sharp pain in his foot made him stop.<p>

"They both lied to me, Mr. Hardy!" Quinn whirled around to face his victims. Fenton and Joe. Both with their hands cuffed behind them. Tape over their mouths. But only Fenton was upright and alert. Joe was out cold on the dirty, wooden floor, head resting in Fenton's lap.

"You should have raised them better than that, Mr. Hardy. My mother raised me better." He stooped down to be eye level with Fenton. "That's why I'm going to be fair about this. I'm going to give Frank everything he needs to win the game. Well, at least one level of the game. I wonder who he'll choose."

Quinn softly stroked his fingers over Joe's feathered hair and all Fenton could do was glare at him.

"If looks could kill. You should be happy I drugged him. He needs his rest if he's going to be strong enough to play his part in the game." Quinn pushed up to standing then picked up the paper soda cup and fast food bag from the floor by his feet. "And the next time I offer you something to eat or drink, I suggest you take it and say thank you, otherwise you might be the one who doesn't make it through to the end of the game."


	4. Chapter 4

**To Wash it White As Snow: Chapter Four**

* * *

><p>Game. That was Quinn's favorite word. Fenton had heard him say it probably a hundred times since he'd grabbed them.<p>

He still couldn't believe that he and Joe had walked right into a trap. If only they'd checked into that motel in Valley View or if they'd flown home instead of opting to drive. Then again maybe it wouldn't have mattered. Quinn was a determined young man and he probably would have found a way to execute his plan regardless of the choices they'd made along the way. Still, it irked him to think about how easily it all went down. . .

* * *

><p><strong>FOUR HOURS EARLIER<strong>

"Are you in pain?" Fenton took his eyes of the lonely road for a second and glanced at Joe in the passenger seat. "You haven't said a word in twenty minutes."

"I'm just tired and my side does ache a little," Joe admitted.

"We should have stopped at that last motel."

"The Pink Parasol Inn? I'd rather drive straight through to home."

"That's hours away. I say we stay on this road until we hit the next town, we stop at the first motel we see then get a fresh start in the morning." Not that he was sure they'd even see another town before dawn. Taking the scenic route, instead of the highway, had made for a relaxing daylight drive but now that night had fallen Fenton was rethinking the choice.

"Dad!" Joe sat up suddenly in his seat and gasped at the snap of pain.

There was a woman standing in the beams of the headlights. She was waving her arms, flagging them down.

"Lonely spot for car trouble," Fenton said as he steered the car in behind hers. "She's lucky we came along."

"She's lucky we didn't hit her. What is she doing standing in the middle of the street?"

They got out of the car and approached the woman who, close up, was in a lot more distress than they'd first noticed. She was crying and her eyes were puffy and red rimmed as if she'd been at it for a while.

"I'm sorry," she sobbed. "But he has my baby."

"Who has your baby?" Fenton asked.

"That would be me." A young man stepped out of the woods. He had a toddler in his arms and a gun in his hand.

"Quinn," said Joe for his father's benefit.

"He made me do it," the woman sobbed. "Told me I had to stop you."

"It's all right." Fenton wrapped a protective arm around the woman but there was no stopping her tears.

"Brothers," Quinn snapped "that's about the only thing you didn't lie to me about."

"That's not true," Joe countered. "I really am a musician and Frank really does love computers. If you weren't selling secrets to the Chinese we might have really been friends."

"No! You were using me. They always use me for my money and my parties. That's all they're interested in. They wouldn't be caught dead with the geek in high school but once I was rich, then it was a whole different story!" He waved his arms and came close to dropping the now frantic toddler.

"Why don't you give the child back to her mother, then we can talk." Fenton opened his arms to accept the child but all he got was a gun in his face.

"Why, when you know I'm so smart, do you think I'm that stupid? Put your hands behind your back and lay across the front of the car!"

Fenton hesitated and Quinn responded by shaking the child. "Don't push me!"

"No one is pushing you. You're in charge." Fenton exchanged a 'what else can we do' glance with his son then he assumed the position across the hood of the car.

"You know what to do," Quinn said to the woman, voice dropping down a notch.

The woman reached into the car and came back with two sets of handcuffs. She snapped one set on Fenton while constantly apologizing for her part in the plan. When that was done Quinn ordered Joe to do the same.

Fenton objected. "His ribs are fractured from when he got shot. He can't lay on them."

"But this is how it's done. It's part of the game and you can't change the rules of the game." He tucked his face up close to the child's and whispered, "Isn't that right, sweetheart? Tag, chess, Zork, you have to play by the rules."

"It's okay." Joe took as deep a breath as he could manage, then carefully lowered his upper body on to the hood of the car. The engine block was still warm and it was oddly soothing against his aching muscles until the woman pulled his arms behind his back. That motion resulted in a stabbing pain that was like getting shot all over again. He gasped, then moaned and tried to ignore the desperation in his father's voice when he spoke his name.

The cuffs clicked shut, then the woman took hold of his shirt and pulled him back to upright.

Quinn walked over to their car and opened the back door on the passenger side. "Get in. Both of you."

Joe took two steps then stopped to let the next wave of pain pass. He kept his gaze on the trees in the distance not wanting to see the expression on his father's face.

At least Frank wasn't here. That was their one saving grace. Unfortunately, Frank wasn't expecting them home for another full day. He might get concerned when they didn't check in, but he'd have no idea where to start looking. No, for now, they were on their own with a petulant genius who obviously had big plans.

Joe got into the car and slid in next to his father just as a pick-up truck roared past. The truck stopped a few car lengths away then rolled back.

"Everything okay?" The driver called out through the open passenger window.

"Ran out of gas," Quinn called back. "Wife's upset with me for not filling up at the last station. But we've got a ride now, so it's fine. Thanks."

So close and yet so far. Joe and Fenton didn't dare yell for the man's attention, not as long as Quinn still had the child and the gun. They had no choice but to sit mute while the driver sped off into the night. As soon as he was gone, Quinn turned on the woman.

"I told you what to do after they got in. Now hurry up!"

She was losing it, sobbing harder than ever, hands shaking as she threaded the seatbelts through their cuffed hands. Even at the shortest length, they still had plenty of leeway but it was enough to keep them from jumping out of the car at a stop light. Quinn had indeed thought of everything.

"Listen to me," Fenton whispered as the woman secured his belt. "My name is Fenton Hardy. This is my son Joe. That man is Quinn and the FBI is looking for him. He's going to let you go, then you need to contact the police and tell them all of this."

She shook her head like she was refusing to listen but Fenton repeated all of the names anyway with the hope that something would stick. That done, she closed the door and stumbled back to where Quinn was standing by her car.

"Please don't shoot her," Joe mumbled under his breath as he watched the scene unfold before him. After a moment of discussion, Quinn handed the child back to the mother then came and slid behind the wheel of their car. He started the engine, pulled out onto the dark road and drove away at a reasonable speed.

"That's good," said Fenton. "That you let the woman and the child go."

Quinn glanced up and his eyes were reflected in the rearview mirror. "Of course I let them go. They didn't betray me."

But Joe and Frank had.

* * *

><p>After Quinn's phone call, Frank laid there in bed, staring at the ceiling, running the words over and over again in his mind. Quinn was upset, understandably so, but he hadn't actually threatened him. Not directly. Still, there was something about his tone at the end that made Frank shiver whenever he thought of it.<p>

Quinn wasn't taking this lightly. Now take the irrational tantrums of a child and mix it with the brilliance of a rocket scientist and what do you get?

Bad news, for sure.

Frank got out of bed, dressed and went to the kitchen to make coffee. He needed the caffeine to clear the fog in his head.

The scariest part of the call was the fact that Quinn knew his phone number. Which meant he knew Frank's real name and no one working the operation knew that except for Avery and Hammond and Hammond wasn't the leak.

Only trouble with that line of thinking was the timeline. Avery was the one who picked them for the assignment. If she was working with Quinn, then he would have known from day one that they were a plant. Unless she was working for herself. Hoping to get her hands on the chip so she could sell it to the highest bidder.

The doorbell rang, startling Frank enough to make him spill his coffee. Good news never arrived before dawn, so he mentally prepared himself before answering the door.

It was Avery Mitchell.

Frank let her in.

"How bad is it?" he asked, before she'd barely stepped inside the apartment. "Quinn called me, ranting and raving about how I betrayed him. I'm guessing you've got something more?"

She nodded and raked her fingers through her hair. "He has Joe and your dad."

Frank wasn't totally surprised. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he had wondered about the possibility but now. . . He stumbled away from her and flopped down on the couch. "How? What happened?"

"State Police in New York called it in. They picked up a woman on the road. She told them that a man, Quinn, carjacked her at a gas station then forced her to help him trap Joe and your dad."

"You're sure it was them?"

"She said the older man told her his name but she was so rattled she couldn't remember it. She gave the police their descriptions and it led them to the all points on Quinn. It took a little while to get through the system, but by the time it got to me we put the pieces together. There's no doubt. It was Quinn and he drove off with the two of them."

"When?"

"Around 10:00, 10:30."

"Seriously!" Frank swore under his breath. "That means he had them when he called me. Why didn't he say so? And how did he know who I was in the first place! Couldn't have been you playing both sides against the middle?"

"No! It was Taylor!"

The young agent who had been running the crime scene. The one who expressed his surprise at learning that Frank was an undercover agent.

"I suspected we had a leak," Avery said as she dropped down to sit beside him on the couch. "That's why I went to Hammond for help. I couldn't trust any of my own guys. He was helping me run background checks and that's why I had to keep your part a secret. Turns out Taylor was deep in debt. Really deep. Korshak offered him a big payout if he'd let them know if we were closing in. He ratted out Henry Epstein and when Epstein was killed he freaked. That's why he didn't warn Quinn about the raid, but I suspect he did help him escape. He must have talked to Quinn again after he found out about you." She sighed. "So he wants his chip back."

"No. He didn't say anything about that. He was just pissed about me lying to him. Well, more hurt, actually. He sounded like a kid who didn't get invited to a birthday party. He wants to prove that he's smarter than me. That won't be hard."

Frank scooted his hips to the edge of the couch and leaned back so he was staring up at the ceiling.

"Did you get any sleep?"

"A couple of hours."'

"You should try to get some more. We can't do anything until Quinn gets in contact with you."

"He's got my family hostage and you think I'm going to sleep." Frank growled as he scrubbed his hands over his face.

"Well, I think we can gain some comfort from the fact that he didn't harm the woman. She knew his name, she saw his face and still he let her go."

"He let her go because he wants us to know what he did. That's part of the game."

"Okay, but he also didn't harm Joe or your dad. She said he handcuffed them and put them in the back of the car. So killing them doesn't seem to be part of the plan."

Frank sat up and turned to face her. "He didn't kill Henry Epstein right away, either. He tortured him first. We thought it was for information but maybe it was Quinn getting back at him for the betrayal."

"That was a totally different circumstance."

"How? Joe and I lied to him. We pretended to be his friends. That's all he's thinking about and that's got me really worried."

Really, really worried. The worst part was, as Avery had said, there was nothing he could do until Quinn called back. And he would call back, because even though he had Joe and Fenton, Frank was in line to be punished, too.


	5. Chapter 5

** To Wash it White as Snow: Chapter Five**

* * *

><p>Joe woke up feeling worse than the night he'd been shot. Every muscle in his body was screaming from sleeping on a cold, hard floor, his ribs were on fire and his head was pounding. He moved once, waited for that wave of pain to pass, then, with his hands still cuffed behind him, struggled to sit.<p>

The tape was gone from his mouth. Quinn had removed it when he noticed Joe having breathing problems during the night. He'd removed the tape from Fenton's mouth as well, then offered him a drink of water which wasn't refused.

"What's going on?" Joe asked, as the fog in his head slowly dissipated.

"How far back do I need to recap?" asked Fenton. "Two hours or two days?"

Joe shook his head and blinked his eyes until the room came into focus. Mostly empty. Dirty. Probably a living room but clearly it had been unoccupied for a long time.

"I remember everything up to us getting here. Then it gets confused."

"He drugged your water," said Fenton

"But not yours? Why?"

"I think, because you were in pain. If that makes sense." Fenton shifted on the floor but there really was no other choice of position. "He called Frank."

"He did? I don't know if I should feel good or bad about that."

Fenton started to reply but stopped when Quinn came in from outside.

"You're up. Good. Time's a wasting. We need to start the game."

"Game?" said Joe. "This isn't a video game. This is real life."

"No difference." Quinn went over to a card table and picked up a small bottle. He shook out one pill, then poured water into a paper cup from a plastic container. He brought all of this over to Joe. "Take it."

"Why?"

"Because you're hurting. I can see that. It's just the pain pills your doctor gave you. Only one, so you won't fall asleep, but it'll take the edge off."

"Like you care." This truly was perplexing.

"You need to be in good shape to play your part. I'd like to wait until you were completely healed but I don't have that kind of time. We're doing this. Today. Your brother thinks he's so smart. Well, we're going to find out. Now take the pill."

"Joe," said Fenton. "Take it."

Why not? Joe opened his mouth, swallowed the pill and washed it down with a few gulps of water. "I don't understand you."

"That's the problem. No one does." Quinn went back to the table then started rummaging through a large totebag. "Actually, I think Frank does. That's why this is so hard. I expected those jocks and jerks to stab me in the back, but he's a geek like me." He looked up for a moment and smiled. "Even if he does have a musician for a brother."

He pulled a Polaroid camera out of the bag then aimed it at Joe. "Smile pretty. On second thought, look scared. Fear's a better motivator."

Joe didn't have to work hard at that expression. In his few years with the Justice Department, he'd come face-to-face with mobsters, smugglers and even a couple of killers, but none of them chilled him the way Quinn did. Ironically, it was the young man's calm, chatty demeanor that was making Joe nervous. He wasn't rational and that made him more dangerous than a contract killer. Pros did the job, clean and fast. Crazy people liked to make it last.

Quinn snapped a photo of Fenton, then showed them both the results. "What do you think? Will these light a fire under Frankie?"

"What are you going to do?" Joe asked, barely able to keep the panic out of his voice at the mention of his brother's name.

"What I do best." Quinn returned the camera to the bag, then pulled both Fenton and Joe up to standing. "Every good game has a prize if you win."

"And we're the prize," said Fenton.

"Of course. There's nothing Frank wants more than his family. I may prefer machines, but I know what makes people tick. That's why my games are so successful. I understand motivation. You'd be surprised at the number of hoops people will jump through just to make it to the next level ahead of their friends. Humans are very competitive and they don't like to be beat."

He held tight to Joe's upper arm, then motioned for Fenton to lead the way out of the house.

They walked around behind the building, then stopped in front of a rectangular hole in the ground. The very top of a ladder was peeking out of the hole and that was all Joe needed to see.

"What is this?" He pulled away but Quinn held tight and the tug-of-war was murder on Joe's ribs. Breathing took precedent over fighting, then he was on his knees in front of the pit. He could see to the bottom now. A wooden box, bigger than a coffin but not much. There was a pillow and an oxygen tank and bag with a bottle of water showing at the top.

"Dear lord," Fenton breathed out. "Quinn. Don't do this."

"On your knees, Mr. Hardy." Quinn ordered and when he didn't comply, the gun came out and went right up to Joe's neck. "Play the game, Mr. Hardy!"

Fenton dropped to his knees.

Quinn put the gun back in his belt. "Now Joe, you trust your brother, right?"

"Yes."

"Then there's nothing to worry about. I'm going to give him everything he needs to find you in plenty of time."

The handcuffs clicked then came away.

"I'm letting you have your hands free so you can eat and drink but don't try to open the lid once it's closed or you might knock out the vent. You'll have oxygen from the tank but the heat might get you without ventilation."

"Yeah, cause my comfort is upmost in your mind."

"Well, I don't want you to die. If that happens, it'll be your brother's fault. Or your fault. Not mine." He stepped back a couple of yards and the gun reappeared. "Go on now. Down the ladder."

Joe fought the urge, but he couldn't help looking over at his father. Fenton's shoulders were heaving, shaking with a combination of anger, grief and fear. In that split second, Joe ran through a dozen parting sentiments, but knowing these were the last words he might ever say to his father, nothing sounded right.

"My god, Quinn. Please don't do this," Fenton begged. "We concede that you're smarter than all of us, put together. You don't have to prove it like this."

Quinn flew at him, enraged like they hadn't seen him before. He grabbed Fenton by the back of the collar and pressed the muzzle of the gun to his head. "Don't patronize me! You sound like my father. Always dismissing me like I wasn't important. I was smarter than him when I was five years old and it scared the shit out of him. At first, I thought it was ego. He couldn't stand knowing his kid had more brains than him. Then I saw the truth. He hated me. I was a mistake that he couldn't fix and so he pretended I didn't exist. I showed him. I made him notice me."

Suddenly Fenton threw his weight backwards, knocking Quinn off balance. There wasn't much force behind it, but the surprise was enough to give Fenton the edge, but only for a few seconds. That was long enough for Joe to come at him from the side. He tackled Quinn and they both hit the ground hard. The gun slipped from his fingers and skittered away but Quinn had an easier time recovering from the fall than Joe who had to battle through another wave of pain. This wave was so bad it blurred his vision and left him unable to fill his lungs on the first three attempts.

Quinn scrambled out from under him, retrieved the gun, then finished it by backhanding Fenton with the weapon.

They were beat. Done. All up to Frank, now.

Quinn grabbed Joe by the shirt and dragged him to the pit. "I'll throw you down or you climb down. Up to you."

Joe didn't think his body could handle one more heavy jolt, so he crawled to the ladder and lowered himself down into the box. He put on the oxygen mask and tested the bottle just to make sure it really worked. It did. Small favors. Thanks Quinn.

"I'm not a monster," said Quinn. "In the bag is a bottle of pills. If it gets too bad, just take them all. You'll fall asleep and it'll all be over."

"I won't need them. Frank will find me."

"We'll see." Quinn pulled the ladder up then used it to slam down the lid.

From inside, Joe heard the sound of metal on metal – clasps locking the lid – and then he heard the first thump of dirt on the box. Then another and another as Quinn slowly buried him alive.


	6. Chapter 6

The next contact was by messenger, an acne-faced teen with a voice that should have cracked and changed years earlier. He expected to hand over the envelope and be on his merry way, so he was surprised when Avery flashed her badge and made him come inside.

"Who hired you to deliver the package?" Avery asked as Frank tore into the sealed envelope.

"Mickey Quinn! Can you believe it? He's like a legend, man. Ma'am."

"How do you know him?"

"I don't. He came into the store where I work to buy some stuff. Can you believe it? Mickey Quinn buying electronics from me! He asked if I wanted to make some cash and I said sure. Paid me a hundred bucks to deliver it."

"Let him go," Frank said, eyes locked on the envelope contents. "He doesn't know anything and we've got work to do."

Avery took the kid's name and address anyway, then sent him out the door. When he was gone, she joined Frank at the dining table where he had the contents spread out before him. Two Polaroid photos and two pages filled with numbers and the words 'Your Father' written at the top of one and 'Your Brother' written on the top of the other. The most ominous thing in the package was a timer ticking down from ten hours.

"Some kind of code?" Avery asked as she skimmed one of the pages.

"Yeah. It must be instructions on how to find them."

"Two different pages. They're separated."

"Probably. And the clock's ticking." Which could mean a bomb or any number of booby-traps set to go off at a specific time. "God damn it. I don't know if I can do this."

"You can, Frank. Quinn wrote these codes specifically for you. He knows your abilities, which means you can crack them."

"Sure, given enough time but I don't have that. I don't even know where to start."

"The same way you start to crack any code. Look for patterns, keywords. . . "

"Right. Okay." Frank got up from the table, went to his desk then came back with a legal pad and a couple of pencils. He rearranged the contents so they formed a kind of pyramid. Blank paper at the bottom, the two pages above, the two photos above that and then the clock.

Avery took the clock away. "Forget that. Concentrate on the page. I'm going to call Hammond, see if he can get us some help."

"Use the phone in the bedroom." Frank absently pointed toward the door then he started making notes on the legal pad.

He started by writing the alphabet across the page sideways. The numbers in the messages were mostly double digits. Some were a single digit and a letter and none of them were lower than 20. That left out a simply 1 = A solution, which would have been too obvious, anyway.

Father and brother were similar words, so he tried scanning for patterns that matched on both pages. He found groupings that were identical, but mostly they were four characters or under. Probably often repeated words like 'the,' 'and' and 'are.' Hard to tell though, because there was no visible punctuation. The only thing that defined one grouping from another was a slight space, likely caused by the natural inclination to space between words and sentences.

This was Quinn's handwriting. Very precise. Very neat. All of the numbers sitting exactly in the space between the lines on the paper as if they'd been printed there by a machine.

This was personal.

He tried his birthday, Joe's birthday, their names as keywords. He kept working back and forth between the two pages hoping that one would lead him to the answer on the other.

Frank picked up both Polaroids. Fenton was stalwart as always. Joe on the other hand was wide-eyed and terrified. He was trying to cover. Aiming for brave, but Frank could see the truth.

"Hold on, little brother. I'm coming." He put the pictures down, then tore two blank pages off the legal pad. He folded the papers in half then used them to mask portions of the code. The first two lines on both pages were identical. After that, they differed wildly.

There was something familiar about the patterns but he couldn't figure out what. Something about the sequences. The numbers with the letters next to them – 4B, 6C, nothing further along than an F, nothing higher than 79. That meant something. But what?

He searched his memories for a phrase, or a book that meant something to Quinn. Some secret they'd shared. One of Joe's songs, maybe.

"Song!"

"What song?" Avery asked as she returned to the dining table.

"B, C, F." He pointed to the instances on both coded pages. "They're guitar chords. Maybe it's a musical cypher. "

"But 55? 32? How does that translate into music?"

"Pythagoras discovered that musical notes could be translated into mathematical equations. If we. . . if we. . take the numbers and add or subtract. . . " Frank picked up Joe's page, put it down then picked up Fenton's. "If we assume that each grouping. . ." He was reaching and he knew it.

Avery knelt down beside the chair and pulled him around to face her. "You have to concentrate. You have to forget what's at stake here and look at it as any other puzzle that needs to be solved." She grabbed both of his hands in hers and squeezed. "And you need to focus on one puzzle at a time."

He started to protest but she cut him off. "Frank, bouncing back and forth isn't helping either one of them. Pick one and work it through. The two codes are the same, right?"

"I think so. The first two lines are identical."

"See, then you only have to crack one. After that, the second one will be a breeze."

Easier said than done. To look at it, they were nothing but pieces of paper, but to Frank, each page represented a life.

"What if I pick one and the other one dies?"

"What if they both die because you can't concentrate? This is exactly what Quinn was counting on. That emotions would short out your brain. Don't let him win."

Frank sucked in a deep breath then made a decision he hoped he wouldn't regret for the rest of his life. He stuffed both pictures back in the envelope along with the page labeled, 'Your Father.' Then he got a clean sheet of paper, set it up next to the code marked, 'Your Brother' and got to work.

BR BR

Frank worked for what felt like hours pushing past the headache and the eyestrain until he couldn't take another second. With a growl of frustration, he pushed back from the table then went to the kitchenette where Avery was making coffee.

The timer was on the counter. Frank eyed it like it was a snake about to strike. The good news was that he'd only been working for about forty minutes. The bad news, that meant Fenton and Joe were forty minutes closer to whatever dire circumstance was going to befall them.

"Nothing, huh?" Avery asked as she poured water through the coffee machine. "You need to eat."

"Nothing here to eat," Frank replied. "We cleaned out the fridge before we left." Which was true, but really he didn't feel like eating at all. "I'll have coffee when it's done. I just need a break."

He wandered out of the kitchen and kept going until he was at the door to Joe's room. Since they'd moved into the apartment together, they'd been more cautious of each other's privacy and Frank couldn't think of the last time he'd stepped into this room when Joe wasn't in there.

The hesitation only lasted a few seconds, then he went inside and smiled slightly at the mess. Clothes on the floor, books piled everywhere, Joe's guitar lying across an unmade bed. Frank picked up the guitar and gently strummed the strings. He had no musical ability whatsoever, and never had the desire to learn, but right now he wished he could play at least one song from Joe's repertoire.

Quinn had been excited by Joe's music and Frank still wasn't convinced that the code wasn't based on chords and notes. Still holding the guitar, he sat down in the arm chair under the reading lamp and immediately jumped back up when something stabbed him in the hip. He set the guitar aside and felt around in the cushions until he came up with a Star Ship game console for the Atari. Dad had given them the machine as an apartment warming present.

Atari.

Video games.

That's it! Frank ran back into the living room.

"Video games!" he shouted. "That's what Quinn does. He's a video game designer. Damn, I'm an idiot." He kept on going, straight to the bookshelf by his desk. "It's Hexadecimal code. I knew, I knew it."

"It's what?"

"Hexadecimal code. It's a computer language. Programmers use it." He found the book he wanted on the shelf, pulled it loose then took it back to the dining room table. "There's a conversion chart in here, but I'm sure. It's based on sixteen digits, that's why you need the letters, A, B, C, D. . . to make up the rest of the numbers."

"I'm confused."

"It's too hard to explain but there it is." He pointed to a page in the open text book, a long chart with number sequences on one side and alphabet letters and punctuation on the other. "Give me a second." Frank tore off a clean sheet of paper and started working the translation. Letter by letter until the first sentence was clear.

"Begin where it all began."

"Where's that? Back at Quinn's place?"

"No, he wouldn't have had time to get there and still set this up. He has to be close by." Frank translated the next line of text. "Go down and cross the red line. The red line. The red line." He slapped his palm on the table. "The beginning is our house in Bayport. Joe and I were both born there and that's where they were headed when he stopped them."

"Or it could be that spot on the road. That was the beginning of all of this."

"No." Frank collected the papers into a hurried pile. "South of our house you cross the railroad tracks for the red line passenger trains. That's where we need to go."

* * *

><p>Avery drove so Frank could keep working on the code. Using the radio in her car, they contacted the State Police and were turned over to a Sargent Mills.<p>

"There are two locations," Avery told him, working with mic with one hand while she steered with the other. "They both begin at the Red Line train-crossing at 14th Street in Bayport. After that, they appear to split. We're still working on the exact locations but we could use some help. Over."

"Whatever you need," said Mills. "I'll send a couple of cars to the train crossing and they'll wait there for further instructions. Over and out."

She hung up the mic, started to say something to Frank, then changed her mind when she saw what was ahead of them. "Bear left." She nudged Frank to look up. "What do you think?"

The translated text told them that they must "bear left" in order to advance. But it wasn't specific about where to turn, exactly. Frank had advised her to pass several forks in the road, saying that when they saw the spot they'd know it and though she'd doubted him at the time, she didn't doubt anymore.

In front of them was a sign – a happy, yellow bear, advertising a wheel alignment service – and it was on the left.

"That's it," said Frank. "Turn at the sign and go straight on until morning."

"Straight on until morning," Avery repeated. She had no idea what that meant, but Frank had been right the first time, when they saw it, they'd know it. "How much do you have left to translate on Joe's?"

"I'm done. I'm working on Dad's." He grabbed the mic and called Mills back. "I've got the second line. From the train tracks, they need to go South and hear what the buzz is all about. That could be literal; some place along the road where you can hear a transforming buzzing or a sign or a street with bees, or hives. It's a riddle; you have to see it from all sides."

"I'll tell them and I'll let you know what they come up with. "

"And hurry. We're running out of time. Over and out." Frank hung up the mic then rolled his head to relieve the tension in his neck. He's been hunched over the papers since they'd left and he was getting car sick from concentrating. After completing Joe's page, he thought he had the code memorized so he'd attempted Fenton's without consulting the chart and that resulted in gibberish which meant no more short cuts. He had to get it right.

They drove in silence for several minutes then Avery asked him to read off the rest of the clues to Joe's whereabouts.

"Straight on until morning. Then, 'you almost missed your chance when he bought the farm.'"

"I don't like the sound of that."

"Me either. The last line says 'the family business goes on forever, can you dig it?'"

The radio came to life, startling both of them. Frank grabbed it. "Yeah, we're here. What did they find? Over."

"A couple of options. There's Parson's Sawmill. You can hear that buzz from a mile away. There's a fabric store called the Quilting Bee, but that's a little north of the tracks and there's an answering service that has a buzzing bee in the logo."

"I like that last one. Is it on a corner?"

"It is indeed."

Frank swallowed hard, all too aware of what a wrong guess could cost him. "Go with it. Tell them to turn there then follow the old man to his watering hole. I don't know what to tell you on that one."

"I understand. We'll work it out and get back to you. Over and Out."

Frank dropped the mic and half moaned, half sighed. "What if I sent them the wrong way? What if it was the sawmill or the quilt shop?"

Avery reached over and laid her hand on his arm. "Hammond said, you take what you've learned and you go with your gut. That's all we've got, here Frank. But I trust your decisions. You understand how Quinn thinks."

He shook his head. "It's just gamer stuff." He gazed out the window and this time he nudged her to look. "Straight on until mourning."

A funeral home.

Avery turned toward it, then two car lengths later, pulled over to the curb just in front of the entrance to the Internal Rest Cemetery.

"Bought the farm? Goes on forever?"

"No. I know it fits, but this isn't it. It can't be it," said Frank.

"Because you don't want it to be it? What was the last line? Can you dig it?"

"No! He couldn't be here. This is too public of a place. Quinn couldn't have been here. He'd need time. Seclusion. Keep driving."

Avery did as he said but Frank's stomach knotted another notch for every block they passed after that. Dig it. There was no mistaking that instruction. He had pushed it from his mind earlier, but now, after seeing the cemetery. . . knowing there was a ticking clock. . .

"He's buried, isn't he?"

"One step at a time, okay? You still have to finish the translation on father's code."

"I can't. I can't see straight. I'm going to be sick."

"Hang on." Avery threw her weight into spinning the car in a tight U-turn that only made Frank's head spin all the more.

"What are you doing? It's not the cemetery!"

"I know. It's not." She swung fast and hard again, this time into a dirt driveway. There was a wooden sign at the entrance. Cherry Wood Farms and over that, a real estate agent had nailed a "sold" sign. "He bought the farm, Frank. He bought this farm."

And he knew it was right.

She drove down the drive and kept going, passed the broken down farm house following fresh tracks that had carved ruts in the dried-grass ground. The rusted hulk of a pickup truck was parked at the end of the path. Across the side was a sign. Victor and Sons Since 1823.

"The family business that's been around forever," Frank said but his eyes fell on the object in front of the truck. A shovel sticking into a fresh mound of dirt. "Oh god." He stumbled out of the car vaguely aware of Avery calling for back-up.

"Joe!"

Frank grabbed the shovel and started scooping away the mound. It wasn't enough. He needed to move more dirt faster. Abandoning the shovel, he dropped down in the dirt and began using his arms and body to burrow.

Avery picked up the abandoned shovel and began clearing the area to his right. With dirt flying everywhere it got up his nose and in his eyes but he kept at it, desperately ignoring the musty smell which was so like death.

"Bastard!" He slammed his palms down and instead of soft earth, he felt hard wood. "There's something here!"

Avery jabbed with the tip of the shovel and there was no mistaking the sound. She scraped the metal scoop across the dirt, defining the edges of the box beneath.

Then Frank yelled for her to stop. "Be quiet for a second."

They both held their breaths and then they heard clearly what Frank hadn't been sure of. Pounding. From inside the box.

"He's alive. Joe! Hang on, we're almost there."

Two state troopers showed up to help when half the lid was uncovered. Rather than keep working at it, Frank suggested brute force instead. Finding positions that allowed them to grab an edge without blocking the rise of the lid was tricky, but with the clock still ticking on his father, Frank couldn't wait any longer.

One, two, three.

They pushed and pulled and the lid creaked open sending a shower of dirt down on Joe. His nose and mouth were covered by an oxygen mask but still he tried to raise his arms to protect his eyes. He never made it. He simply didn't have the strength.

Frank slipped down into the box, landing so his feet were on either side of Joe's legs. "Thank God. You're alright." He removed the oxygen mask, then, with the help of the troopers, got Joe up and out of the hole. Once he was in the clear, Frank tried to put the mask back on him but Joe batted it away.

"I knew you'd find me," he said, voice so scratchy it felt painful to hear.

"Glad I didn't let you down, little brother."

Joe reached out and ineffectually grabbed hold of his brother but his fingers couldn't latch on. "Help me."

"What? Sit up?" Balancing on one knee, Frank got his arms under Joe's shoulder and pulled him up to a sitting position. Again Joe tried to grab hold and this time he managed to knot the fingers of both hands in the front of Frank's shirt. This close, Frank could see the glint of tears in his brother's eyes.

Joe opened his mouth to say something but not a word came out, then he leaned in until his forehead rested on Frank's chest. His body was heaving as adrenaline mixed with a wild swing of emotions.

"It's okay. You're okay now." Frank ran a soft hand over Joe's back, feeling every shudder, every gasp for breath. Every ounce of fear and it cemented his resolve to get Joe out of the business.

And as much as he wanted to stay there, clutching his little brother, he knew he couldn't. His father was still out there, likely in the same predicament, waiting to be found.

"Joe. Do you know where dad is?"

Joe looked up with fresh horror on his face. "No. He put me here first. Where is he? Frank?"

"We'll find him. Okay? We found you. We'll find him."

And that was when Frank realized that he hadn't even finished the second translation and time was running out.


	7. Chapter 7

Joe refused to go in the ambulance and Frank could hardly argue the point. They got into Avery's car and headed for the second location. The state troopers were positive they had the right spot but without the last clue they didn't know where to look.

Fighting through a raging headache and an adrenaline rush, Frank translated the last line then got on the radio. "It says a rose, is a rose, is a rose. Could be real roses, could be a painting—"

"What about rows with a 'w'," Avery suggested. "Like morning and mourning."

"Rows," Frank repeated into the mic. "Like rows of things and look for freshly turned earth. That's the biggest thing. If you find that, start digging. We're a couple of minutes away. "

"We'll make it." Joe's hand crept up on to Frank's shoulder from behind his seat. "I was first, which means Quinn had to drive this same road and use up the same amount of time we are. Dad's got more time. We'll make it."

"I know," said Frank, but there was no conviction behind it.

* * *

><p>They arrived at the second location ten minutes later. Like the one before it, it was a large tract of land with a dilapidated house on it, though not as old as the farm. The trooper in charge met them at the car.<p>

"We've looked all over and we haven't found a rose or things in rows or freshly turned earth. I'm sorry."

"He has to be here," Frank said as he walked toward the house with long, purposeful strides. "All of the other clues lined up. I mean, I guess we could have made a wrong turn somewhere but I don't think so. I'm sure this is it."

Avery yelled for everyone to stop moving and be quiet then she called out Fenton's name at the top of her lungs. They all listened, straining for the slightest sound but all Frank could detect was a soft hissing.

"Dad! If you can hear us, make a noise so we can find you." Again they all stilled and again the only noise was the hiss.

"What is that sound?" Joe asked, eyes scanning the area for a clue. He followed the noise toward the house, walking none too steadily. It took him around the side, to a faucet with water squirting out around a hose that was screwed on to the end.

He called Frank over and Avery came, too.

"The water's on. No one lives here but the water's running. Why?"

"Oh no." Frank clutched his brother's arm, nearly pulling him over where he stood. "Hose. Not rose. I must have gotten one letter wrong in the translation. I was working fast and my brain filled it what made sense. Not a rose, is a rose, is a rose. A hose, is a hose, is a hose."

They followed the garden hose from the faucet, around the back of the house and into a crop of tall weeds. The weeds were so thick they didn't see the brick circle until they were only inches away. The structure was about two feet high and it was covered with a wooden disc. The disc had two hand-holds cut into the center and the hose was stuck down one of them.

"I need some help here!" Frank reached for the disc both anxious and afraid to see what lay beneath. The lid came away with the hose still attached.

Joe dropped to his knees on the opposite side then leaned in to the well. "It's Dad. I can see him."

"Be careful!" Frank admonished, but he was doing the same or worse.

It was dark inside but they could see the shape of a person slumped up against the wall. Too far away to reach.

"Dad!" Frank called and got no response.

"I can't see the water level," said Joe as he adjusted his position to get a better look. "It's not up to his face though, I can see that. Why isn't he answering?"

"I don't know, Joe." Frank stood up and bumped into Avery who was also trying to gauge the situation.

"One of the troopers is getting a rope from his car. We can tie it around that tree and you can lower me down."

"Me, not you," said Frank.

"I'm lighter."

"He's my father." And he pushed her without really meaning to. "I got Joe out, I'm getting him out." Then he whirled on his brother. "You are not to help. You'll just mess yourself up all the more."

"Frank." Not defiance, but worry. Like when they were called to the morgue in Paris to identify what everyone thought was Fenton. It made Frank's heart ache.

"He's just unconscious. Probably hit his head on the way down but he's as tough as they come. You know that."

The troopers returned with a rescue rope kit which they set up in short order, using the tree for leverage. Frank buckled the harness around his waist then accepted the work gloves he was offered.

"Do you know what you're doing?" A trooper named Marcum asked as he checked Frank's work.

"I've climbed mountains. I think I can handle a well."

"It's going to be slippery on the sides, so you won't have much traction. At least it's not too far down."

Frank climbed up on the short wall then turned and lowered himself in like he was testing the temperature of a pool. He knew he had to let go of the wall, but it wasn't human nature to simply fall into the abyss. He could feel the tension on the rope and Marcum confirmed that they had him for sure. He let go and slipped an inch. He tried to get his feet up to walk down the well wall but it was too slippery with slime to be of much help.

Joe watched from above, filling the others in on Frank's decent. Down and down until he was level with Fenton.

"Dad?" Frank tried, but still no response. He wished he'd brought a flashlight so he could look for injuries but either way he was going to have him hauled out, so it didn't really matter. A moment later, Frank's feet touched bottom. The water was up to his knees, about chest high on Fenton, the way he was sitting. Even still, he was completely soaked. "Give me more slack!" He called, then he put his ear to Fenton's chest. "He's breathing but he's out cold. I'm going to put the harness on him."

Frank tested the ground beneath his feet and decided it was stable enough to hold him. He unbuckled the harness then slipped it around his father's limp body. As he adjusted the strap in the back, he felt Fenton shift, then again.

"Dad?" Frank leaned back then lifted Fenton's chin so they were eye-to-eye. The lids were closed by the lips were moving. "I got you. I'm putting on a harness so we can pull you out of here." Again he went back to securing the buckle and again Fenton pushed against him as if to make him stop. "Dad. Relax. I need to get this on you."

"Joe." Fenton tried to lift his head, tried to make eye contact with his son. "Joe."

"He's fine. He's right up top." Frank leaned back and called for his brother to say something.

"Dad! I'm okay. Now let's get you out of there!"

Fenton nodded then allowed his older son to finish the work.

"He's good to go. Pull him up." Frank kept his hands lightly around his father's limbs to keep him from swinging into the walls. He held on as far as his arms could stretch then could only watch as multiple hands reached over and lifted Fenton to safety.

A few minutes later, he was in the harness being pulled up and over the top.

Fenton was on the ground wrapped in a blanket with Joe at his side.

One of the troopers gave him a quick exam. "He's got a cut on the back of his head but that doesn't look too bad. He could be suffering from hypothermia. We need to get him warm and out of these wet clothes."

Using the blanket as a litter, they carried Fenton down the hill to a waiting ambulance. This time Joe didn't argue the mode of transportation. He climbed in, too.

Frank was about to join them when a metal glint on the roof of the house caught his eye. "Check that out," he said to Avery.

"Why? What do you think it is?"

"Quinn," said Frank and he left it at that.

* * *

><p>"He was watching us the whole time," Avery said as they walked along the boardwalk at Bayport Harbor. Fenton and Joe were both at home so Frank had asked her to meet him here, away from the house. "We found cameras at both locations but they were being monitored from somewhere else entirely. Maybe mobile. He might have had equipment in a van. He could have been following us as we drove all over town."<p>

Frank leaned on the railing and stared out at the boats bobbing on the bay. The cool, misty air felt good on his face and he realized how much he missed it. How much he missed home and his Aunt's pies and his father's jokes and the marks on the door of the pantry that showed how much taller he was than Joe at age 8.

"We're still looking for him but with his money and the fact that he can think ten moves ahead, I doubt we'll find him."

"He'll make a mistake. He's smart but he doesn't really understand people. That's going to trip him up."

"I guess. Joe and your dad doing okay?"

Frank nodded just as a gust of wind caught the wisps of his hair. "Joe's still pretty rattled but he tries not to let it show. I see it mostly when he sleeps."

She laughed. "You share a bedroom at your dad's house?"

"We have our own rooms but sometimes we share anyway."

Avery touched him on the arm and he swung around to face her.

"After everything that's happened, you probably don't ever want to see me again. But you're always welcome on my team or maybe just lunch next time you're in DC?"

"I'm sure I'll see you again," he said, not sure whether that was a good or a bad thing. He touched her arm then let his hand slide down to hers for a half handshake. Then he watched her walk away and disappear into the crowd.

Frank turned back to the bay. He let his mind wander over the life he'd led in this town and was so lost in thought he didn't notice the man come up to stand beside him.

"Do you think we can ever be friends?"

Frank's breath caught but he forced himself to keep staring out at the boats. "You tried to kill my family."

"Not true. I took very good care of Joe. I gave him his pain pills and I even gave him an out if things got too bad in the box. I'm not a monster."

Frank laughed under his breath then turned slowly to face Quinn. "You know what's scary about that? The fact that you really believe it. It's all just a game to you."

"What would you call it? We're born because two random people decide to have sex. Our lives are shaped by more random events and random people. We could die any minute, at any age. It's like that game we played when we were little, Chutes and Ladders. Sometimes fate lifts you up and sometimes it knocks you down."

"Meaning we have no control over our own destiny."

"You can try. You saved your brother but he could have easily suffocated if you'd got caught in a traffic jam or what if it started to rain. What would have happened to your father then?"

"Good point." Frank turned his attention back to the sea.

"I like your father. He's a good man. He protected your brother and that woman who he didn't even know. She might have led him to his death, but still he stepped in front of her when he thought I was a threat. I've never known anyone else like that. I've also never known anyone else like you. You're smart, Frank. Imagine what we could accomplish if we worked together."

"Sure, we could create a video game so real it responds to your actions or take over a small country."

"We could do both. We could take over a country and turn it into the world's biggest video game. That'd be cool." Quinn turned to face the bay, mirroring Frank's position leaning on the boardwalk railing. "I promise I won't bother your family again. You won the game, so you get the prize."

"I want something more. You keep my phone number and the next time you think about doing something bad, I want you to call me and give me a chance to talk you out of it."

"That's a deal." And he smiled like a kid who just got an autograph from his idol. "I guess I'll see you again, then."

"You can be sure of that, Quinn. You'll definitely see me again."

And when he did, he was going to be carrying a loaded 45 in a shoulder holster and a shiny new badge in his pocket.

They were definitely going to meet again.

The End


End file.
